


Days And Nights We Lost Ourselves To Weakness

by Laramidian_Phantoms



Series: When So Many Have Died [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcoholism, F/F, Flashbacks, M/M, Pride, Rehab, Self Harm, autistic alex, but i wanted to build up the world a bit more, this is honestly a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laramidian_Phantoms/pseuds/Laramidian_Phantoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We can only do our best to recreate.</p>
<p>Snippets of meltdowns (good, bad, and numbness) that Alex experiences throughout his time with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days And Nights We Lost Ourselves To Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> So, information relating to "When So Many Have Died" universe:  
> -Alex is high-functioning autistic, although he doesn't know this until later in his college career  
> -Hercules transitions during the course of his last year of college, and for quite some time he identifies as a girl  
> -Marie and Adrienne are The Literal Cutest  
> -John and alcohol have a difficult relationship
> 
> Also, I'm finally getting back into the swing of this universe. School is starting up, though. Hah.

A sunrise splattered across John’s freckled cheekbones. Small dorm room walls littered with dog-eared posters of bands Alex listened to. Wood cabinet from the 90’s, with opened boxes from the Stevens’ family on top of it. A faint silence, broken by the faint sounds of morning sex from the room across the hall.

 

_ At least it’s not the neighbor’s again _ , Alex thinks. He tilts his head back towards John’s forehead, letting the rustle of his ear brushing against the pillowcase block out the moans from next door. He stares at John’s relaxed, sleeping face, hearing how congested John’s breathing seems to be.

 

_ It’s what happens when you cry yourself to sleep _ , he figures to himself, and he gently pulls John closer to him. He closes his eyes and wills himself to fall back into a half-asleep state, paying attention to the way John’s breaths are falling, in case they pick back up in a panic-induced state.

 

***

 

Another lash of thunder rumbles through the dark room John and Alex are sitting in. Alex lets a high-pitched whine escape his throat. John is fumbling around, and Alex uncurls and whines louder, trying to find him in the darkness with his hands.

 

“John, John,  _ John _ !” He’s sobbing now, and he can hear John trying to soothe him with his voice, but the thunder is still too loud, and it echoes through the empty house too well, and Alex can’t focus, he can’t breathe, he can’t see,  _ Oh god, I’m dying, oh my god I’m dying oh my god oh my god oh my-- _

 

Suddenly, it’s quiet. A gentle pressure is applied to his ears, and when he reaches up to them to feel what’s there, he feels heavy-duty construction earmuffs. He smiles, although he can feel the sob that stabs through his chest and out his mouth. Somehow, he puts his hands down on John’s shoulders, and he’s being pulled into John’s arms. He’s feeling the steady breathing that John is giving.

 

The earmuffs don’t eradicate the thunder. But they seem distant, now, like the storm is passing.

 

***

 

It’s early in the evening. He’s at the wheel, driving back to Manhattan after a nice visit to Niagara Falls. Marie and Thomas are asleep on each other’s shoulders in the back, with Hercules tucked up, reading a book. She’s biting her lip, and Alex can see how she sneaks tears away from her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, which Alex also can tell are hiding scars. He worries about her, she hasn’t been happy since the end of his freshman year, and while he knows she’s planning on graduating in May, it doesn’t seem like she’ll make it through the semester.

 

_ Maybe she’ll graduate with us _ , he hopefully thinks.

 

Sunset falling behind them, and Alex turns up the faint radio when they pass Binghamton. John is looking out the window, finger tracing the treeline as they drive.

 

***

 

In the middle of the Pride crowd, Alex stands still. He’s surrounded by rainbows on all his sides, and he sees Marie kissing her French friend Adrienne in the distance. Hercules is shyly waving a small trans pride flag, although their small display of pride is hidden by Thomas’ rambunctious arguing with protesters on the side.

 

He’s gently bumped into by John, who turns and smiles at him. He doesn’t catch a word of what John says, no matter how hard he wants to listen.

 

“Yeah,” Alex chipperly replies, pulling a grin and an enthusiastic nod for John. It wasn’t convincing enough, apparently, and John is now stopped in front of him, hovering his hands over Alex’s shoulders.

 

_ What’s wrong? _ Alex reads on his lips.

 

“Nothing, I just want to save this moment forever,” he replies. He pulls John’s face to his lips and locks him into a soft, warm kiss.

 

***

 

Alex has no tears to cry this time. John’s in the hospital bed, tubes and needles attached to him. There’s a constant beeping, a sound that Alex matches to the soft  _ th-thump _ he’s memorized from all the times he rested his head on John’s chest.

 

The phamplet in his hands is unfolded, although he worries that there will be a permanent thumbstain from where he’s been gripping it after reading it repeatedly. The rehab facility looks nice enough.

 

It’s just a matter of John actually listening to him when he wakes up.

 

Alex doesn’t let himself fall apart until two days later, when he arrives back into their little flat in Manhattan. After tearful conversations on John’s part about rehab, and after finally signing the documents when John consented to it, and after taking him to a facility in nearby Newark, New Jersey, and driving back to meals prepared by Marie and Hercules, he finally lets his sobs break the silence permeating his mind.

 

***

 

He still traces the drawings that John made in the new Moleskine journal Alex bought him as a sobriety present a year ago. John drew such pretty sketches of the leaves in Central Park, the animals at the zoo, the skeletons in the museum. There are sketches of Alex sleeping, of Alex writing, of Alex drinking coffee in the morning with his hair in a sloppy bun on top of his head.

 

It wasn’t until the day after John’s funeral that Alex sees the ragged composition book that John kept in his desk, the ones filled with angry, warped images of his father, of the people John had fought during his sobriety, of the broken bottles and red marks on fingertips, and the last page with scribbled profanities aimed at Alex.

 

_ Drawing helps me process, helps me cope _ , Alex remembers hearing John say one time when they were browsing the sketchbooks that Alex secretly bought that day. He thought the beautiful sketches in the Moleskine were signs of his mind finally healing from the trauma, the drinking, the everything.

 

_ I found the process _ , Alex thought.

 

He ducks his head into his hand and cries, letting his tears fall onto the pencil scratches that cursed his name.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a Raise a Glass update in a few days!
> 
> You can contact me at rambleton and laramidianphantoms on Tumblr!


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